The Stripper Toy for My Hot Stepbrothers

Lyra's POV

I'm all alone in the house again. It's been years of living with a mother who was like a ghost. I'm nothing important to her and her actions says it. I remember when I was much younger, we used to live in a good apartment at least. All of a sudden, she changed like I didn't deserve it. 

Iris moved us to a small apartment. The bad part of the city. It was like my complains of being scared that I was getting harassed constantly by strange people and being followed didn't matter to her. She ignored everything, avoided talking about it at all even when I asked why we moved. And she couldn't stand to be near me. She'd leave cash on the kitchen counter for food. That was her way of being a mom. No hugs. No "how was your day?" Just silence.

"I got a job interview today," I told her one morning. My voice was too loud in the quiet kitchen.

She didn't look up from her coffee. "Where?"

"The diner on 5th Street. Waitressing."

Her spoon hit the mug. "Don't be late. They'll fire you for that."

That was it. No good luck. No pride. Nothing. The empty space in my chest hurt. I needed to get out of that apartment. I needed to be around people. Even strangers.

The walk to the diner was five blocks. I was halfway there when I noticed them.

Two men. Walking too close behind me. Their voices were low, carrying just enough to reach my ears.

No. Not again. 

"Hey, pretty. Where you headed?"

I kept walking. Eyes forward. The oldest rule I gave myself even though I was trembling inside. No matter how much I want to fight back, I can't beat my trauma. 

"W-who are you people? Stay away from me!" I yelled when they suddenly blocked me. 

"Don't be like that. We're just being friendly."

"Exactly, what's so wrong about that?" 

A hand shot out and grabbed my arm, spinning me around. The man's face was too close, his breath stale with cigarettes. His friend blocked the pavement ahead, grinning.

"Come on. Just talk to us."

"Let go." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

He didn't. His grip tightened, fingers digging into my skin. "We just want to get to know you. No need to be rude."

Panic clawed up my throat. I pulled back. He pulled harder. My scream stuck in my throat. Somehow, I feel like it's not that simple. 

Then, a sound like thunder.

A different car, low and black and fast, jumped the curb and stopped hard alongside us. Jeremy got out of the driver's side. He wasn't just an ordinary man. He was like a storm.

He moved fast. Violent. I'd never seen anything like it. He grabbed the first man by the head. He smashed it into the nearby wall. Crack. The man fell. The second guy pulled a knife. Jeremy took it from him so fast I blinked and missed it. He drove the man's own hand, still holding the knife, into his stomach. A choked sound. Then quiet.

He stood there. Breathing hard. Surrounded by the mess. His eyes, dark and burning, found me. He was powerful. I wondered how he could be so strong. Maybe because I knew who he was when he saved me. This wasn't the first time, it was the second time he saved me this month. 

 This first time was a pure coincidence. But how did he know I was in trouble again this time? I was frozen and scared. I suddenly felt the strongest pull I'd ever felt.

He didn't say a word. He just walked over. He picked me up like I weighed nothing. He put me in his car. He took me to his club. His office was all dark wood and quiet. He cleaned the cuts on my hands. He was gentle. So different from the violence I just saw.

"Th-thank you," I said. My whole body shook.

He just nodded. He looked at the cut on my hand.

I saw my chance. My only chance. My voice was broken. Desperate. "I need a job. I have... I have nowhere else to go. No skills. Nothing. Please."

He looked at me for a long time. His eyes saw everything. The fear. The poverty. The desperation. "You can work here," he said. His voice was low. "I'll find something for you."

"Thank you." I said, even though I knew I just made him give me a job I was familiar with. I've done all sorts of jobs for years and stripping was one of it. There wasn't any other job he could give me in this kind of place. 

And that's how I ended up here. Tonight. On the stage. The music pounds through the floor. Into my bones. I move. I smile. I arch. I spin. My mind is far away. Floating near the ceiling. Watching my body dance for all those hungry eyes.

"Yeah, baby! Take it off!" a man shouts. His words are slurred.

I don't see him. I see our kitchen floor. The cracks in it. I see the blank look on my mother's face. The hollow feeling is back. My old friend.

My shift ends. I get my cash. The thin envelope. It's not enough. Not for a life. I'm walking through the crowded tables toward the back. My heels stick to the spilled beer on the floor. 

Then a big hand smacks hard against my backside. Grabbing my ass rough. The touch is crude and so wrong. It jerks me out of my head and back into my body. The feeling is sick.

This is what I mean, I get harassed everywhere even I'm doing nothing. How do I deal with this one? 

I spin around. A large man with a red face leers at me. "What's your hurry, sweet thing? The night's young."

Before I can say a word, he's there.

Jeremy moves through the crowd. People move out of his way. His face is cold. Calm. But his eyes are boiling. He doesn't speak to the man. He just grabs him by the collar and the belt. He lifts him off his feet. With a grunt, he throws him toward the main door.

The man's body crashes into a table. Glasses shatter. Marco is there fast. He hauls the man up. Jeremy follows. With a brutal move, he throws the man through the club's double doors. The sound of breaking bone is clear. A scream. Then the doors swing shut and cut it off.

The club is silent for a beat. Then the music starts again.

Jeremy turns. His eyes lock on mine. The protective rage on his face... it does something to me. It cracks open the numb shell I live in. It makes heat low in my belly. I'm confused, what is this feeling?

He doesn't look away as he walks to me. He doesn't say a word. He just takes my hand. His grip is firm. Then, he leads me through the back hallways. My heart hammers in my chest. The atmosphere between us is electric. 

He pushes open his office door. He pulls me inside. He closes it, and locks it. He turns to face me. His chest still rises and falls hard.

We just stare at each other. The only sound is our breathing.

He takes a step closer. Then another. He stops right in front of me. So close I feel the heat from his body.

"Did he hurt you?" His voice is rough.

I shake my head. My voice is a whisper. "No."

His hand comes up. His fingers trace the line of my jaw. It feels gentle. The touch shocks me after the violence. A shiver runs through me.

"He put his hands on you," Jeremy said, his voice a rough murmur.

"It's… it's part of the job," I whispered, my own voice sounding unsure.

"No." He stepped closer, crowding me against the door. "It's not. Not anymore." He brought his other hand up, his knuckles brushing my cheek where a tear had escaped. "Nobody touches you but me."

I don't understand, what's with the possessiveness? His words should have been a cage. So why did they feel like a shelter?

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. His eyes searched mine, seeing the fear, the confusion, the unwanted spark of arousal his display had ignited.

"Tell me you understand," he murmured, his breath warm on my lips.

"I…" I couldn't form the words. My body was screaming yes while my mind was still screaming danger.

He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth captured mine in a searing kiss. It didn't even feel like the first time in this office. This wasn't about possession. This was something darker, more intense. 

I kissed him back, my hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. I was kissing him with a desperation I didn't recognize, a need that was all animal instinct. He groaned, his hands sliding down my back, pulling my hips flush against his. I could feel the hard length of him pressing into my stomach, and a fresh wave of heat washed over me.

He broke the kiss, both of us gasping for air. His eyes were blazing.

"I marked that bastard's face for touching you," he breathed, his hands cupping my face. "Now I'm going to mark every inch of you, so everyone knows who you belong to."

He kissed me again, harder, his tongue plunging into my mouth as his hands roamed my body, leaving trails of fire. He walked me backward until my legs hit the edge of his desk. Papers scattered to the floor. He lifted me, sitting me on the polished wood, and stepped between my legs, never breaking the kiss.

His hands went to the tiny clasp of my sequined top. With a sharp tug, it came apart. The flimsy fabric pooled around my waist. His hot gaze fell on my breasts, and a low sound rumbled in his chest.

"So perfect," he whispered, his thumbs brushing over my peaked nipples. "All mine."

He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one taut peak, and I cried out, my head falling back. The sensation was electric, shattering the last of my resistance. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to me. This was nothing like the numbness of the dance floor. This was all feeling, too much feeling, a whirlwind of fear and safety and a raw, primal need.

He worshiped my breasts with his mouth and hands, his touch leaving a possessive heat that sank deep into my bones. I was panting, writhing against him, lost in the storm he was creating.

He suddenly pulled back, his chest heaving. His eyes were black with desire.

"I need to feel you," he rasped, his voice thick. His hands went to the waist of my tiny bottoms. "All of you."

He looked at me, a final, unspoken question in his gaze. My body was screaming its answer. I gave a tiny, frantic nod.

This is a bad idea.

This is the only idea.

He owns you.

He saved you.

The thoughts crashed together as his fingers hooked into the thin fabric of my clothes.